


Worst Kept Secret

by Piinutbutter



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Dates, Awkward Kissing, Complicated Relationships, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-09 06:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/pseuds/Piinutbutter
Summary: Ajay Ghale wasn’t the hero Kyrat deserved. He wasn’t a bastion of strength and progress. He wasn’t the noble son of Mohan, rallying the hearts of Kyrati men, women, and children with his charisma alone. He was a quiet, awkward, American-raised boy who was currently sitting down to lunch with a tyrant who had - definitely, absolutely, with 100% certainty - fucked his mom.





	Worst Kept Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehopper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/gifts).



Ajay was starting to like bell towers.

Taking them down had been an intimidating task at first. All the rickety wood and broken floorboards combined with that much altitude threatened to instill a fear of heights in Ajay where there had never been one before. But after a while, the whole thing developed a pleasant rhythm. Take out whatever guards were hanging around outside, climb, climb some more, climb some _more_ , take back a bit of Kyrat for its people. He’d take that over more hunting missions any day, and his back still hurt from the last stunt mission he’d been dumb enough to accept from Sharma Salsa.

As he made his way to the North, the radio towers became more of a challenge. Ajay didn’t worry, though. He had this all under control. Well, he had the first two thirds of this under control. On the last leg of the climb he trusted the wrong ladder rung. He felt wood cracking under his feet, didn’t have a solid surface close enough to recover to, and fell straight down. He didn’t scream consciously. The sound came out on its own.

Fortunately, he was saved from breaking his neck by a solid section of flooring in his path. Unfortunately, that bit of flooring was a story and a half down, and he landed on it arm-first. Ajay groaned and tried to adjust his position - at the very least he needed to check if his arm was broken. But as soon as his weight shifted the flooring creaked ominously. Ajay froze and looked around. There wasn’t a sturdy section anywhere he could reach by crawling. If he jumped and grabbed a ledge with both of his arms he could mayyybe get down in one piece, but the searing pain in his right arm vetoed that idea.

With his good arm, Ajay reached carefully for the radio he kept in his jacket pocket. Only to realize that he’d landed on it, and it was currently crushed to shit. Ajay closed his eyes, let his head fall back to the floor with a soft thunk, and muttered, “Fuck.”

His plan was to try to think of a plan. Falling asleep wasn’t one of the steps. But at some point he must have passed out, because he was woken up by the raucous noise of a helicopter just outside the radio tower. Not the whir of a buzzer, but a full-on helicopter roar. That...probably meant trouble.

Ajay tried to see what was going on through the gaps and holes on this level of the tower, but that was hard when even the slightest movements made both his arm and the floor he was counting on angry at him. The helicopter idled, and he heard muffled voices outside that quickly became slightly less muffled voices inside. One of the voices had the telltale controlled, dangerous cadence of a Royal Army soldier, while the other one -

"...ind me what I'm paying you people for, again?"

\- was Pagan Min.

What was he doing here? Ajay couldn’t make out everything he was saying, but he definitely heard his own name and the words “find him,” spoken in the the tone of an order that no one was going to question unless they had a death wish. Had Ajay walked into a setup? Sabal and Amita were going to kill him. If Pagan's soldiers didn’t do it first.

Ajay was torn between two equally stupid instincts. The first one was to stay completely still and hope that nobody could see him. The second was to grab his gun and try to take down Pagan now that the opportunity was right in front of him, non-dominant arm be damned.

He went for the latter.

Ajay drew the gun from his waistband - it had mercifully survived the fall - and rolled onto his side to try and line up a shot at the ground floor. His aim was solid. The platform he was shooting from was not. A floorboard suddenly sunk down beneath his elbow, and Ajay announced his presence to the present company with a gunshot that soared high above its intended target.

Pagan’s soldiers glanced up, raising their own weapons. Ajay cursed under his breath and - on yet another stupid instinct - tried to crawl to cover. The floorboards had finally had enough and cracked completely, dumping Ajay into a fall that was helpfully cushioned by a graceless smack into a wooden beam on the way down. However painful, it was his saving grace - the change in momentum allowed Ajay to fall to the ground floor without dying, knocking himself unconscious, or otherwise sustaining extreme injuries.

Of course, there were still two men training guns on him and a vicious dictator staring at him in shock, so he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Pagan blinked and grabbed the soldiers’ arms, shoving them down. “Well don’t _kill_ him, you idiots. I don't remember penciling in an appointment for a fucking self-fulfilling prophecy today.”

He stepped towards Ajay. Ajay shuffled back awkwardly, still sitting on his ass. His gun had slipped out of his hand on his way down, and his arm made hand-to-hand combat a shitty idea. Ajay hadn’t seen Pagan in person since his arrival in Kyrat, and he’d done a lot to make Pagan pissed at him since then. Whatever Pagan had had going on with his mother, Ajay had been actively working against the guy for the last couple weeks. Regardless of how he acted during their one-sided radio chats, Pagan probably wouldn’t be as chummy now as he’d been back at De Pleur’s mansion.

Ajay’s back hit the wall. Pagan marched over to him, crouched down, and...hugged him.

“For fuck’s sake, boy, don’t scare me like that,” Pagan chastised, rubbing his back.

“Uh?” Ajay said.

Pagan released him and sat back on his heels. “Really, Ajay? You climb a fucking radio tower because you wouldn't know good sense if it bit you in the ass, I hear a crack and a scream, and then nothing? I thought you were _dead_.”

Ajay glanced past Pagan to his guards. They looked like they’d rather be anywhere else about now. “So you...came to collect my body?”

“Make it sound weird, why don’t you. Here.” Pagan grabbed Ajay’s injured shoulder and attempted to pull him to his feet. Ajay hissed in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Ah, shit,” Pagan muttered. “You gave yourself a beating up there. I keep telling them we need to put more of a budget into repairing these old things, but does anyone listen to me? No.”

Ajay was pretty sure he'd heard intel indicating the exact opposite of that statement, but that wasn't important right now. “I...I’m fine,” Ajay protested, utterly unconvincing. Pagan raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not in the mood for medical attention?”

“No, thank you.” Well, he was. But not from Pagan.

“Painkillers?”

“I’m good.”

“A stiff drink?”

“I...no?”

Pagan laughed. “You are your mother’s son, Ajay. That stubbornness took her far in life. It'll take you further if you let it.”

To Ajay’s surprise, Pagan didn’t press the matter. He stood up and reached into his suit pocket, and before Ajay could worry about what he’d put in there, Pagan dumped a roll of bills into his lap.

“Think of it as government provided health insurance,” Pagan said. “I don’t mind you running around Kyrat like a headless chicken, but keep yourself alive, alright? I could cope with you going out in a fiery blaze of glory, riding into battle on a tiger or some heroic bullshit. But falling out of a radio tower? That's just unacceptable.”

“Oh.” Ajay picked up the money like it would bite him. “Thanks? I’ll, uh. I’ll try. To keep myself alive.”

Pagan’s expensive leather shoes crinkled as he knelt down in front of Ajay again. He reached out, and Ajay did start to freak out when Pagan’s hand gripped the back of his neck. But all Pagan did was lean forward and place a kiss on his cheek.

When he pulled back Ajay assumed Pagan was going to do something creepy, like tell Ajay he tasted like his mother. Instead, Pagan fixed his immaculate hair, smoothed down his unwrinkled suit jacket, and said, “Good luck, my boy.” As he walked out, he pulled out his phone and started tapping away. "Note to self," he muttered, "get someone to photoshop Ajay riding a tiger."

 

* * *

 

Ajay didn’t know how to feel about Pagan. The guy didn’t hate him, even though Ajay was currently dedicating most of his free time to tearing down Pagan’s propaganda posters, shooting members of Pagan’s army, and just generally committing any number of anti-Pagan activities. (“Yes,” Pagan had said over the radio when Ajay brought it up, “and that’s quite naughty of you. Imagine me wagging my finger at you right this very moment. No. Bad.”) Even when Pagan did get pissed at him, it was always more of a fleeting annoyance than a long term grudge.

Ajay didn’t know if Pagan was just playing an incredibly elaborate mind game with him, but if he was, it was working.

Especially because Pagan just _kept showing up_. Ajay knew Pagan was keeping tabs on him to an extent that Ajay could probably be pressing stalking charges, if he were somewhere with a working legal system. Every time Ajay got himself in a situation too nasty to solve on his own, Pagan always nudged him just out of harm’s way. He didn’t always show up in person. Sometimes a mysterious vehicle would run over the pack of wild dogs that had been chasing him for two miles. Sometimes tranq darts would rain out of nowhere when Ajay was outnumbered and insufficiently armed in a fight. And that just fucked with Ajay’s head even more, because now he couldn’t help being grateful to this guy who was, in every way, a monster of a person.

Finally, Ajay couldn’t take it anymore. Pagan came - _in fucking person_ \- to nurse his dumb ass back to help after he fell out of a tree and knocked his head on a rock, and that was just too much. He didn't care if Pagan had just been "swinging by for a meeting with the locals," even if he believed that in the first place. When Pagan tried to leave, Ajay grabbed his arm.

“Hey.”

Pagan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching. “Yes?”

“Wait. We need to talk.”

The tyrant king of Kyrat sat cross-legged in the dirt across from him and rested his chin in his hands, waiting eagerly for whatever Ajay had to say.

Ajay’s head wouldn’t stop pounding. It made the whole thinking thing kind of difficult. “Look. I…” He rubbed his head, wincing as his fingers passed over a bump. “Why are you doing this? Why do I get all this special treatment?”

“Stop fussing. You’ll make it worse.” Pagan knocked his hand away. “Listen, Ajay. You’re a smart boy. Why don't you practice some self reflection while you’re scaling all those majestic mountains?”

Ajay frowned. “That didn’t answer my question.”

One side of Pagan’s mouth pulled into a soft smile. “Then I suppose you still have some things to learn.”

He cupped Ajay’s neck, and Ajay expected another parting kiss on the cheek. Instead, Pagan’s lips pressed against his, lingering for a moment that felt a hell of a lot longer than it probably lasted. Ajay blinked, surprised by the fact that he wasn't as surprised as he perhaps should have been. Maybe he'd hit his head harder than he thought.

Pagan didn’t act like anything important had just occurred once they were separated. He stood and bid Ajay farewell with, “Don’t fall out of any more trees.”

All Ajay could come up with in response was, “Sure,” because what the fuck was he supposed to say to all of this?

 

* * *

 

Ajay really needed to stop agreeing to every single person who asked for his help. His people-pleasing nature had gotten him in car chases and shootouts. Sometimes it had gotten him mauled by unreasonably angry fish. Today, it had dumped him on top of a freezing mountain where he was about to die.

That was what it felt like, at least. Ajay’s teeth were chattering so hard he thought he might bite his tongue clean off. Most of his body felt numb, and he still hadn’t recovered the ammo and money caches that were supposedly stored up here. It wasn’t high enough to require an oxygen mask, but Ajay wished he’d brought one anyway, because he was freezing his ass off and it wasn’t any fun and maybe more oxygen would make the experience a little bit nicer.

Ajay finally found what he needed and bundled it as tightly as he could through thick gloves and fingers that felt about as coordinated as a dead yak’s. He stumbled back to the snowmobile he’d hijacked from a royal army soldier, but as he fumbled with the keys, the edges of his vision started closing in. Ajay gasped a deep, unsatisfying breath that didn’t do anything to help his encroaching dizziness.

The last thing he remembered clearly was dropping the keys into two-foot-deep snow and muttering, “Shit.”

When Ajay woke up, his head was in Pagan Min’s lap. The rest of him was on a thin mattress, and it was warm and cozy wherever the hell they were, but that didn’t seem as important right now.

Ajay should probably ask where he was. Where Pagan had come from. Whether he was going to die of frostbite or something.

Instead, he blinked and said the first words that came to his mouth. “This is about my mom, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” Pagan brushed Ajay’s hair back from his face. His hands were cold. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by Ajay’s question.

“You’re using me as a replacement for my mother, right?” Ajay cleared his throat, still scratchy with dehydration, or sleep, or both. “She’s my only connection to you. Why else would you bother with me?”

Pagan stared at him with...not surprise, but something Ajay might venture to call self reflection, if he was being generous.

“Oh, Ajay.” He leaned down, and Ajay surprised himself by blocking Pagan’s attempt at a kiss with his hand.

“That’s not an answer.”

Pagan laughed. It wasn’t the deliberately sinister chuckle he used when he wanted to intimidate someone (although Ajay had to admit basically everything Pagan did was some level of creepy), but more of a genuine sound of delight. “See, that’s exactly it. Right there is what drew me to Ishwari in the first place. Not many people would have the courage to sass a man who could have them killed with a snap of their fingers, Ajay.”

“But you wouldn’t kill me, would you? You won't let me die. Because of your...relationship with my mom.”

Pagan smiled and shrugged.

“So this _is_ about her.”

“Yes. And no.” Pagan shifted and Ajay sat up, fighting off a brief wave of vertigo. “You’re far too smart for me to claim that your mother has nothing to do with my affection for you, so I won’t offend you by trying. But as much as you are Ishwari’s son, you’re also your own man, Ajay. And I find myself inconsolably pulled to you.” Pagan adjusted his shirt collar. “Think about it: An all powerful king weak at the knees for a strong young rebel hero fighting to take him down. Star-crossed love at its finest. Do you think I should sell the story rights to Lifetime?”

Ajay startled at the mention of love, before he decided that Pagan was just being dramatic. “Okay,” he said. “Because I don’t...I don’t want to be a surrogate for my dead mom. That’s just weird.” As if everything about this wasn’t weird. Only a few weeks ago, Pagan had been waxing poetic about visiting Ajay's imaginary elementary school piano recital.

Then again, Ajay now spent his free time shooting, stabbing, and grenade-ing enough people and animals to populate a small rural state. Was this really where he drew the line of moral standards?

Pagan tested that by smiling at him. “Then tell me, Ajay: What _do_ you want?”

Words. Why were they so hard? Ajay should be asking for more explanations. More answers. Advice on what the fuck he was doing, both in Kyrat in general and here, with Pagan Min. Alone. With his guard down.

Maybe it was that realization, of how vulnerable he was making himself, that made Ajay want to take control of this conversation. He did this by opening his mouth, staring at the wall for a couple seconds, closing his mouth, gripping Pagan’s face in his hands, and kissing him.

It was probably a good thing he let other people make the mission plans for him. He was terrible when it came to taking control.

Well, okay, maybe not as terrible as it seemed in the awkward, silent moment after Ajay planted their lips together. Once that passed, Pagan was bracing his hand on Ajay’s shoulder, not to push him away but to pull him closer.

They stayed like that for a minute, just kissing like normal fucking people did, and honestly? It was nice. It was really nice. Pagan wasn’t a bad kisser, and the warmth in the air meant that-

Oh, yeah. There was still the matter of why he was here in the first place. Ajay totally and willfully ruined the moment by pulling away and looking around. “Not that I don’t appreciate the rescue, but uh, where did you take me?”

Pagan’s surprise passed quickly on his face, replaced with that inscrutable smile he wore in press conferences and publicity photos. (Or at least, his body double wore. Ajay wondered how long the guy had studied Pagan’s facial expressions to get the smile down that well.)

“I know places.”

They were in a cabin of some kind. The place was homey, filled with thick rugs and well stocked bookshelves.

“Did you kick someone out of their house for this?” Ajay demanded.

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“No.”

“Smart boy. I’ll tell you this much: I didn’t kill him. Just _politely_ suggested he stay with a relative for an unspecified amount of time. You’re rubbing off on me, I tell you.”

“Okay.” Ajay’s head bobbed softly, a nod to himself. “Good.”

Pagan’s hand came to rest on Ajay’s back. It was warm and broad and Ajay could feel callouses through his shirt. “Is that the line you draw? Whether the room you’re necking in has been obtained by unethical means?”

Ajay’s laugh was more like a cough. “I mean, when you put it that way…”

He stopped talking and went back to kissing. That felt better. Maybe he hadn’t gotten laid in too damn long, or maybe it felt nice to know that even if most of Kyrat wanted Ajay to be his father, Pagan didn’t _entirely_ want Ajay to be his mother.

And, uh, Pagan was really good with his mouth.

Of course Ajay had to go and ruin it somehow. His hands moved to Pagan’s chest, because that was what normal people did when they were kissing for a sufficient amount of time. Pagan was just wearing a button-down for once, and Ajay’s fingers moved to undo his collar. It felt right. Pagan let Ajay get as far as his third shirt button and straddling Pagan’s thigh before he gripped Ajay’s wrist.

“I don’t think so,” he said, firm.

Ajay’s stomach flipped, and not in the fun horny way. Pagan - gently, politely - shoved him off of his lap.

“You should get some rest,” Pagan suggested, standing up. His face was stony, and his tone left no room for argument.

“Pagan?” Ajay frowned. Had he misunderstood? Pagan had definitely kissed him first.

“Do you want me to spell it out? In plain words: I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Wait. Wait a minute. Had Pagan been telling the truth about batting for the other team? Ajay was going to eat his fucking gloves if Pagan Min was chickening out because the object of his apparent affections had a dick.

“Okay. That’s, uh, that’s fine. Sorry,” Ajay muttered, unsure if the heat in his cheeks was from irritation or shame. You knew you’d hit a special kind of rock bottom when you offered to sleep with an evil dictator and got turned down.

Pagan offered him a sympathetic smile and reached out to stroke his cheek with a thumb. “Sleep, Ajay. I’ll see you soon.”

 

* * *

 

Ajay’s boat drifted to a smooth stop as he approached the river bank. He’d gotten a lot better at piloting these things over the last couple weeks. Steering had never given him trouble. Stopping, however, had resulted more than once in Ajay crashing onto land and faceplanting into swampy bank water. He didn’t miss that.

He stepped out and dragged the little motorboat onto dry land, gathering up his supplies and haul for the morning. Huge fish filled his net, and the bag slung over his shoulder was stuffed with rank-smelling wolf pelts. The smell more than anything was what made Ajay pause in thought and consider how he looked right now. Would a stranger be able to tell him apart from any other Kyrati coming home from a day of hunting for his trade?

This was a different life than the one America provided, that was for sure. He was more likely to get charged by a rhino than run over by a drunk driver, for one thing. Theoretically, the whole civil war thing should have made Ajay a lot more frightened of his home country than he was. But then he thought of Pagan Min - which, ouch, okay, a sore spot to be thinking about right now. But he thought of Pagan and his not-really-spoken promise to keep Ajay safe and, somehow, he believed it. Even if Ajay had totally fucked things up between them and made everything more awkward than it already was. Pagan had had literally every chance to kill, capture, or torture him. Ajay pitied the bastard who tried to hurt him (lethally, at least) where Pagan could see.

Besides, there was something Ajay had been noticing more and more lately. It was a feeling that went through him when he successfully scaled a perilous mountainside, or pulled off a dangerous jump, or rode an elephant into an enemy outpost and came out victorious. It was a feeling of contentment and adrenaline rolled into one. It felt like the feeling he’d been trying to chase as a dumb teenager, fucking up his life in search of a thrill. It felt like being alive. It felt like being home.

God _damn_ , could he be any more of a stereotype? The wayward American soul-searching for his life’s meaning in a war torn foreign country. Did it still count if he was born here?

Besides, he missed a lot of things about America. Like pizza delivery. And easy access to hot showers. Which he could really use once he dumped these pelts off back at his current base. He was still daydreaming about taking a long, indulgent shower when a woman jogged down the road towards him, her hair flying behind her.

“Ajay Ghale?” she called, a hint of panic in her voice.

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” She was dressed like a civilian. If this was another request for dhole eradication, Ajay would have to turn her down. He’d had enough of those fuckers to last him a lifetime.

The woman came to a stop in front of him, breathing hard. “Please, come with me.”

“What is it?” Ajay let his load of fish drop back into the boat with a wet thwack.

“I…” the woman glanced around, wringing her hands. “I...my stove caught fire! Please, help me before my house burns down! I have three children and, and-”

Ajay held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll help.” There were people better equipped as firefighters, but they were out on a pretty secluded part of the riverside, and Ajay might well have been the closest person she could find. “Where’s your house?”

“It’s - it’s this way, just please, follow me!”

“Is it far?” he asked as they took off. “I can see if there’s a car around here I can-”

“No need!” she interrupted, waving for him to keep going. “Just come with me.”

It only took a couple minutes to get to a small house perched on a scenic area overlooking the river. Ajay frowned. He was pretty sure he’d been inside that house before, and it had been completely abandoned then. He doubted a woman and her family could have made it their home in...what, four days? Ajay smelled a trap.

“Are you sure-” he began to say, and the woman’s eyes went wide with fear. She grabbed him by the arm and, with surprising strength, shoved him through the doorway. Ajay felt the door hit his ass as it slammed behind him.

Instead of a firing squad or a bag over his head, Ajay was met with Pagan Min lounging at a dinner table whose shoddy appearance had been covered apologetically with a pristine white tablecloth. The table also held a candle, two glasses, and a bottle of wine.

“Ajay!” Pagan spread his arms wide. “You’re right on time. Your escort did her job well, I take it?”

Ajay rubbed his sore skin through the back of his jeans. “What?”

“I know you, Ajay, you’re too hung up on the little things in life. I saw how crestfallen you looked the last time we spoke. I knew you wouldn’t come spend time with me if I just invited you myself. So I took advantage of the resources at my disposal and brought you to me.”

“Did you threaten that woman’s family?”

“Now, Ajay, where’s your sense of romance? Let’s not argue semantics on our first date.”

Ajay coughed. “I’m sorry? Our first what?”

Pagan straightened the tablecloth. "I do apologize for the accommodations. I knew that if I invited you somewhere with even a modicum of class, you'd stand me up." When Ajay still looked like a sambar in headlights, Pagan kept talking. “I told you. I’m not going to sleep with you. Not in some filthy old cabin with no buildup whatsoever. Ishwari would fucking kill me. Let’s go about this properly.”

Hesitantly, Ajay walked towards the table. “‘This’ being...”

“A relationship, boy. That is what you want, isn’t it?” Pagan wrinkled his nose as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “If you just want someone to sleep with, I’ll have to turn you down. There are prostitutes with less sordid sexual histories than myself, and better morals too. Hell, I’d send you back to Sabal if I thought he was capable of taking the stick in his ass out long enough to let you-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, please.” Ajay dusted his pants off - a useless gesture against the varied collection of grime on them - and sat down across from Pagan. “I...yeah, I guess.”

“Hmm? You guess what?” Pagan reached over to pour him a glass of wine.

“I guess this is what I want.” Maybe there was something wrong with him, that he felt more comfortable groping a man than sitting down to lunch with him. On the other hand, this was Pagan Fucking Min, so everything was wrong about this.

And yet, Ajay couldn’t find it in him to really care.

“You could be a bit more enthusiastic about it,” Pagan said, pouring a drink of his own.

Ajay laughed, small and awkward. “Sorry. I’m not good at talking.” He never had been, as Radio Free Kyrat’s entire audience had learned when Rabi Ray Rana had surprised Ajay by putting him on air. He wasn’t the hero Kyrat deserved. He wasn’t a well-spoken bastion of strength and progress. He wasn’t the noble son of Mohan, rallying the hearts of Kyrati men, women, and children with his charisma alone. He was Ajay Ghale, a quiet, awkward, American-raised boy who was currently sitting down for a date with a tyrant who had - definitely, absolutely, with 100% certainty - fucked his mom.

“Alright, alright. I forgive you.” Pagan raised his glass. “Cheers.”

_Clink._

“Cheers,” Ajay echoed.

 

* * *

 

Ajay nearly crashed his borrowed car into a bridge when Rabi Ray Rana opened his morning segment with, “Let’s get real: Does the Golden Path’s golden boy have a sugar daddy?”

He had maybe two seconds to hope that Sabal had mysteriously acquired a new ‘golden boy’ in the last twenty-four hours.

“Because, let me tell you guys - I have been hearing some _wild_ shit about Ajay Ghale’s love life. Wild shit. And, y’know, it’s all kind of coming together for me. Where _does_ the guy get all the resources to traipse around Kyrat like he does? I’d bet my sweet, bidet-fresh ass the Golden Path isn’t funding all that. More importantly, and this has been bugging me for weeks: Who does his dry cleaning? I swear the guy looks impeccable every time I see him. He should look like he’s been rolling in elephant shit. Literally, given his combat tactics.”

It was too early for this.

“On top of that, a caller who’s asked to remain anonymous told me that she's seen Ajay sneaking out of random buildings looking like a real post-fuck posterchild. We’re talking hickeys, mussed hair, disheveled clothing - the real fucking deal.” Rabi snickered. “Heh. Fucking. Point is, all signs point to Ajay Ghale using some unconventional peacemaking tactics in his mission for the Golden Path.”

Why did this drive, of all drives, have to be peaceful? Why couldn’t a bear show up and attack him now? He’d take someone with a busted car on the side of the road if it would distract him. Or a sudden tragic power outage that just happened to be concentrated around the Radio Free Kyrat headquarters.

“Okay, okay, now, don’t take this the wrong way! I’m not judging over here. Not at all. I am fully in support of Ajay Ghale fucking Kyrat to freedom. He can go down in history as the Freedom Fucker. If our human rights rely on Ajay getting some rich dick, then Ajay? Mark my words: Get that dick. We’re all rooting for you.”

Ajay finally had enough and flipped the radio to a new station, after fumbling with the knob a few times. Only for it to come alive with the voice he wanted to hear least right now.

“Ajay, my boy! I heard the good news. Congratulations on your financial security.”

“I hate you,” Ajay muttered.

“Sure you do. For the record, I just wanted to tell you that if you ever attempt to call me ‘daddy,’ we are going to have a serious talk. I think that’s a bit too much psychological baggage even for a man like myself.”

Ajay considered throwing the radio (and the car attached to it) into a river.


End file.
